


canis mortuum

by Anonymous



Category: John Wick (Movies), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dogs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: of all the dog parks in all the world





	canis mortuum

There's a new face at the park; he notices because he notices everything, of course, and then he sees the puppy. Exuberant and entirely untrained, it is unable to be still beside the man on the other end of the leash; tall and dark and immaculately dressed, posture straight and loose.

Harry reads _danger_ and _do not approach_ just as the dog escapes its collar and runs straight up to him.

He allows himself a few moments of scratches and face licks and memories, then he passes the dog back to the man.

"You should look into lessons."

"Right. I will." He pauses, and for less than a moment his expression is unschooled, as if there was something warring inside that couldn't be so easily contained. If Harry was not trained to pay attention, he would have been unable to see it. "Thanks."

The man leaves silently, the dog held just so - secure, supported, as if he'd never let go - and Harry can't help but think of a spring that's just been primed.

 

\-->

 

The next time he's at the park, and the next, the man isn't there.

 

<\--

 

Harry pays extra attention to his grooming, because he always has and it's very important to do so. Taking an extra few minutes to check that his collar and handkerchief are perfectly aligned, his cuffs are straight and secure, and his weapons aren't disrupting the line is not a luxury or something he does in case today the man is there again.

He is, however, very glad he did so.

 

The man has a different dog, and Harry thinks it suits him more. The shimmer of the mundane is gone, now; this dog looks equally likely to lie on the floor and demand attention as it is to spend the afternoon off-leash, running as if it needs to burn off energy just to fit in its own skin. 

 

He doesn't ask what happened; he throws a ball, and throws it again, and he waits, hyperaware of each shift and breath while wondering what he's doing.

The dog brings the ball back and flops. The man takes the ball and throws a biscuit, which lands neatly in front of the dog's face.

"John," he says. There's minute signs of relaxation, and Harry feels like he's passed some kind of test. Like there could be something, when they're both ready.

"Harry." He offers his hand, still slightly wet, and trusts that John will understand.


End file.
